


Halos to Horns

by lsularak



Series: Deadly Devils [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Blood, How Do I Tag Please Help Me, Hurt, Like, Lots of mentions of God, Matt and The Devil, Religion, Religious Themes, first thing ive ever written???, he isnt as disturbed as he should be, i dont know how to tag im sorry, lots of metaphors, matt accidentally killed someone, matt doesnt care anymore, me being dramatic and verbose, waxing poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 06:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lsularak/pseuds/lsularak
Summary: It started with the Devil, and Matthew Murdock. What was new about that, though?Matt goes too far, and finds he isn't as shocked as he should be.





	Halos to Horns

**Author's Note:**

> wow, ok, so i have actually never in my Life written a fanfiction,, uh,,, really i can blame this whole fandom for this, bc ive seen some absolutely amazing works in this fandom that really just,, resonated with me?? like the works are so beautifully written and evocative i just didnt know what to do and i decided "hey! writing! thats pretty dope i can maybe do that and maybe itll help with all the feelings i got from these other fics"
> 
> i know its kinda short and i totally started falling asleep at the end of it but i hope you still enjoy it!! and if it doesn't make sense let me know and i'll do my best to edit it and have it make sense!!
> 
> enjoy!!

It started with the Devil, and Matthew Murdock. What was new about that, though? 

He never meant to go this far. Really, he thought, as he flexed the creaking bones of his hands against the blood slipping down them. He had only meant to incapacitate, as he always did. He had even been prepared to call the police, burner phone weighing heavily in his pocket. It seemed to taunt him, now, though. Look what you’ve done, it whispered; and he did. He tasted the blood permeating the air, sticking in his lungs with every breath he took like a sickness that couldn’t be shaken; he felt the body cooling in front of him, had heard when the heart in it stopped beating. He didn’t know what to do. There was no one for the police to come pick up, unless Matt counted himself. He thought maybe he should, absently. Maybe he should turn himself in, confess to everything he’s done, maybe God would grant him some kind of absolution for it, even. But clearly God wanted nothing to do with Matthew Murdock, because He put the Devil in him.

That was why this had happened, right? The Devil got a little overzealous, and clawed a path out of Matt’s body only to sink its teeth into the Kitchen Matt swore to protect. It sunk its teeth in gently, however. Careful of the city that had allowed it to break free at all. It could almost be considered loving, if not for the blood it still drew.

Matt turned these thoughts over in his head as he left, clueless as to what should be done with the body. Someone would call the police when they found it, surely. He tried not to dwell on how the body would be found as he climbed up a fire escape, directing his internal compass to home. He failed, of course. No one would think anything of it, just another victim of the Kitchen. No one would think it was the Devil’s work, and even if they did, they would find no proof. Just one more accusation in the ocean that Daredevil had to stay afloat in daily. Floating had never been a skill of Matt’s, though, and he knew it was just a matter of time before the accusation sank him. 

He would be the only one who knew it was true, the only one to know with certainty. Just another secret to add to the list of things he could never allow into the light. That list was getting long, he mused to himself when he got home, methodically stripping out of the armor and leaving it on the floor for the time being. He needed to shower. Needed to get the blood off of his hands. Of course, it would stay in the metaphorical sense, that would never come off, a black stain on his soul, but he could at least scrub off the real blood that coated his knuckles. He stepped into his shower, turning the water on as hot as it could go. He could stand the heat, being the Devil and all.

He scrubbed the blood off of his hands until they ached from the force of it. He could hear the water swirling away, and he wondered if his shower’s floor would be stained red. Not like anyone would notice, really, it was just Matt here. Well, Matt and the Devil, but they were one in the same, anyway, now. Matt had fallen from Heaven and cracked his halo, leaving only the horns he had worn as a symbol, but now they were real. Flesh and bone horns that Matt could sense, sure that if he ran his hands across his visage he would find them. He would never need the suit again, if that was the case. Had he ever needed it at all? If the Devil had been lurking by his heart for all these years, maybe the horns had always been there; he just couldn’t sense them. Maybe that was how he had always managed to strike fear into the hearts of any criminal he went against, they could see him for what he really was. While he had remained oblivious, blissfully unaware, everyone else could see him for the Devil he was. The halo had never been real, he supposed. He had just put some padding between his horns, hoping to pass for a servant of God. He was seen right through, of course. God only allowed it because who was he to crush the dreams of one who wished to attain holiness?

He let the illusion pass, but it cracked like glass when under pressure; because Matt was not carbon, he did not thrive and come out on the other side as a diamond. He splintered and broke, embedding himself into the skin of those who tried to pick him up to piece him back together. As a result, eventually, they stopped trying to pick him up. They left him to gather the fragments of himself with a bottle of superglue, letting him stick himself back together in jagged shapes. He did his best, but with each new stressor he shattered again and again, no matter how much glue and padding he used. Each shatter let more blood out to swirl down the drain, and he realized it wouldn’t matter if this new blood would blemish his shower or not, because the shower floor had already been saturated with Matt’s blood too many times to count. It was probably already stained beyond repair, and Matt was fine with that knowledge.

In fact, Matt thought, as he got out of his shower and toweled off, going to change into something clean he could sleep in, his whole apartment could be stained red and he would never know. He has bled on practically every surface in his home, the stench of blood clinging to every surface he dared to inspect a little closer than a simple cursory examination, so it isn’t a very far out theory; but it’s not like anyone has visited his home recently enough for him to ask. No one enjoys visiting the Devil, anyway.

The Devil took himself through the motions of cleaning up his suit, tucking it away in the chest that held the last pieces of Jack Murdock and locking it away again. In the dark, where it belonged, never to see the light of day even when in use. The Devil turned away, going back to his bed with sheets as soft as sin, preparing to rest and to pretend that, in the morning, he had never even been there in the first place; ready to shrug off the accusations with no more than a charming smile and a simple “Who?”

Because the Devil was a myth, after all. He bore the crimes of the world like Atlas with the cosmos, despite being a simple figment; or so the world thought. It was his greatest trick, after all; convincing people he didn’t exist. When, really, he had always been there, lurking under the skin and viscera. He chose to hide in plain sight, and by him not having any sight of his own, rendered himself invisible.

The Devil spared one more moment to think about the sin he had committed tonight, as he let his head hit the silken pillowcase and tucked his body away under the sheets, and allowed a smile to slip through.


End file.
